


I came here to bring you cherries

by Snow soul (SnowSoul)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is overthinking, Fluffy Ending, He brought cherries, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSoul/pseuds/Snow%20soul
Summary: After the lock down video, the phonecall ended with a goodnight. But did Crowley really sleep?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 6





	I came here to bring you cherries

Crowley stared at his phone, puzzled.   
Aziraphale just called him. He called _him_. _**Him**_. He could not put his finger in it. But... Why? Why he bothered to call him?   
Sure, things had changed with the end of the Time that wasn't.   
Aziraphale was more relaxed in his presence than ever. He still startled for every loud sound - still terrified from Heaven, but he agreed to hang out almost every night until Pestilence woke up and invented a new disease. Fuck, he wanted to ask him a real date, a picnic in the park - something they did endless time, indeed, but he wanted a different meaning to that date. Something different than being a friend. 

  
But then... Then Pestilence happened and well... Crowley was not dealing well with a lockdown.   
He missed going out. He missed watching Aziraphale eating, but more than anything, he missed his freedom. Deciding to not doing anything was his favourite choices of an endless number of possibilities, and now that he had all the time of the world, he could not do anything. 

On the other hand, Aziraphale seemed appreciating the quarantine too much. He baked cakes and he was reading, for the love of Someone. How! How he could focus enough to do something of his time?  
Crowley tried to do something. He tried dancing-workshops online, he tried yoga class (that was absolutely a useless thing, honestly) and he tried pottery class. Now he had an outfit for dancing on a chair, closed to a pair of yoga pants because he was too lazy to miracle them away. He left some clay dried on his table in a strange table-mountain shape. Shame that he never saw table mountain. 

Crowley groaned, putting an alarm for July and his finger stop halfway to the button "confirm". Wait. Did the angel imply that he could come over? Did he say that he was expecting Crowley to break to rules? Did he want Crowley to go over? 

  
Crowley recapped the conversation in his mind, as he always did because he was terrified to upset him and ruin their friendship. Was not a demon trait? To ruin, to tempt, to sin?   
His tongue wetted his lips, his mind lost in his own thought. Well, Aziraphale seldom judged his demonic work, but in the phone call, Crowley could sense a sort of... Hope? No, could not be. But some acceptance maybe?   
He dropped the phone on the concrete and he rubbed his face hard, trying to be less sleepy. 

  
Angel said "no".

But he could feel it. The anxiety, the spasm of his stomach, the panic that was there, like an infernal hound, ready to hunt him. Suddenly he could not take it anymore.   
The only thing he could hear was his heart, beating so fast and so loud, he was sweating and trembling, cuddling himself in a ball He could not take it anymore. He could not get enough air in his lungs, even if he knew that he did not need to breathe. He seemed feeling that sense of doomsday that he never wanted to feel anymore. Only that the other time, Aziraphale was there, a soothing balsam to his soul. 

"Crowley?"   
Crowley did not move, he did not have any control of his body, of his muscle of his ear, because he could hear Aziraphale's voice and he knew that they were apart. Fucking COVID. 

  
He mumbled something, trying to visualize a nebula, inspire from the nose expire from the...   
Something touched him. Something, soft like a feather, but it irradiated love and security. The pain in his chest lighted a little when he could pick a smell - a hint of cologne, old books and chocolate cake, maybe? Could he...? Was he?  
He fought his own body to move, to untangle his protective ball to raise his head and open his eyes. That took almost all his strength, but it was worth it when a fond smile and a pair of worried blue eyes met his. He did not talk, and was probably a bad idea - how can you talk? Articulate sound?   
The angel's hand raise to touch his cheek and Crowley froze, biting his lips. He was not comfortable, he was still sweating and numb... but everything seemed less frighting with Aziraphale on his side. 

  
"Are you okay, my dear?"  
The demon nodded once, without blinking, slowly coming back to life.   
"The rules, my field friend. Are you here for me to break them?" Aziraphale rested his hand on his face, still there, still a solid presence in all the ocean of chaos. He smiled. Crowley's head went numb again, but not from the panic attack.  
"I... Err... Cherries."  
"What?"  
"I came here to bring you cherries, you said that you have to miracle them, right? Well... where are those bastards, now?"  
"Cherries, sure." The angel stared at him for a minute, then dropped his hand and stepped back. He did not comment on Crowley that miracled himself on his sofa during a panic attack. How thoughtful. "I guess I can offer you a piece of cake before you go, right?"  
"Sure, sure, I can go now, I... Do you want me to go now?" He whispered the last part, standing up and some-how hiding his face.   
"I... No, but those are the rules, right? Social distancing and everything" Aziraphale gestured, as he always did when he is anxious.   
"But I'm already here, angel. And, if I stay here, then I cannot go out to temp people to ignore social distancing and... To not wear gloves and masks. It is not your duty? To stop demons to their demonic jobs?"   
"I guess so if you put that way..." A smile appeared again on Aziraphale's face. "Tickety-boo, I will go and fetch some cake, you can just..." He gestured something and he left, mumbling to himself that he needed to make more bread if Crowley wanted to stay. 

  
The demon sit on the sofa, smiling.   
After all, he would actually thank Pestilence, this time. 


End file.
